


Mage Pride

by LouRandom



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Begging, Blood Pacts, Blow Jobs, Horn Stimulation, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Romance, Touch-Starved Aaravos, because reasons, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouRandom/pseuds/LouRandom
Summary: “Take the risk,” Aaravos says, “or play it safe.” He leans forward to whisper in Viren’s ear, “The choice is yours.”





	Mage Pride

**Author's Note:**

> This monster took me A Long Fucking Time to write and twice that to edit and i'm still pretty afraid to post it cause i think my smut has gotten wayyyy too rusty but ugh
> 
> I have nothing left to lose. Unlike Viren x)
> 
> Enjoy! (and give a listen to [Mage Pride](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxUrz7ZLCp8&list=PLJ7BjLdfg_9HK55EY5lbCLYPsNcQtTH85) by Inon Zur, one of the best Dragon Age soundtracks that inspired this whole bloody thing)

The human gives up his desires to Aaravos so eagerly that he is almost surprised. Almost. Because of course, he knows how he must seem to the mage, a soul so evidently moved by mystery and the arcane—immensely powerful, intriguing, compelling.

Aaravos takes care to keep appearing as such.

The man is curious beyond measure, about Aaravos’ nature and abilities as a Startouch elf, about his relations with his own kind. He questions Aaravos about his prison, which the mage insists is more of a palace, serene and beautiful to gaze at from the other side. Aaravos is, of course, careful not to reveal too much, keeping up the spell which prevents the man from perceiving any texts written about him. He needs to trust Aaravos first, to be absolutely loyal to him before he can find out the truth about his past.

The man is, himself, a curious specimen. Carries himself proudly, confidently, obviously one who values power, prefers to be in control. And yet, his emotions are so easily read on the open book that is his face: interest, apprehension, fascination, fear. Despite the last two, the mage does everything Aaravos shows to him, following his spell through almost without question, though not quite without hesitance; he disappears for a couple of days, covering the mirror up, feigning terminal distrust. And yet Aaravos knew the human will come back to him, hungering, begging for knowledge, power—

“All things I can provide,” Aaravos assures him at one point, and the human knows it to be true.

So Aaravos shares only bits and snippets of incredibly ancient magical knowledge with the human, insinuating with every story and every spell he unveils that there is so much more to gain. He tells him of the rite to release the shadows of the deceased to wreak havoc in the human kingdoms, letting him feel the raw, tremendous power course through his veins, the power he could wield at any time with Aaravos by his side. He lets him use it again as the guards find the mage in his chambers. Here, Aaravos gets easily carried away with this newfound freedom, finally able to channel his magic into the outside world, if only through a makeshift bridge. Looking back, he could have been more careful, _should_ _have_ been subtler. Shouldn’t have put the human in such a perilous position in the first place, set to lose all the trust of his court if he went through with the battle to the end. Aaravos stops the fight before it’s too late, before each and every of their attackers is needlessly killed—or a fatal arrow strikes the mage.

“Surrender, Viren,” the blonde priestess says, “it’s over.”

Viren.

He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself before, and Aaravos was glad to know what to call him now. Aaravos says it out loud a few times, letting himself taste it, savor it, get used to the name of his new companion. Viren. His way out of this reflective prison.

“I will stay with you,” Aaravos promises, feeling the ghosts of Viren’s tremors as the caterpillar buries into his ear. _Viren_ , he finishes in his thoughts.

*

At first, Viren is reluctant to speak, only deigning him with one-word answers and spiteful quips. He recoils from each of Aaravos’ attempts to touch him; Aaravos has set up a quick spell allowing a projection of himself to appear nearby Viren at any time. It’s faint, invisible and all but worthless, but it allows him some semblance contact, and for now at least, that is enough.

It’s developed into an odd routine between them, Aaravos talking about magic and history, randomly chosen topics to keep Viren’s mind occupied and distracted from the grim solitude of his cell. His voice doesn’t need to come from the caterpillar anymore, but Viren doesn’t need to know that yet—it’s quite amusing to watch him squirm every time the bug scuttles around his ear. Viren isn’t as amused, though. Understandably. Thrown into a small dark dungeon, stripped to a shirt and trousers, manacled by his wrists to the wall and left in a half-kneeling position above the cool dusty floor—he blames Aaravos for this predicament.

“Why are you still here talking to me, _elf_ ,” Viren says at one point, voice laced with contempt, “when _you’re_ the reason I’m here in the first place?”

“I believe I’ve already asked forgiveness for my rashness,” Aaravos says, “how many more apologies do you require?”

“Oh, just the one.” Viren lips curl in a snarl. “Make it up to me this way—turn back time and _don’t_ betray me.”

Aaravos chuckles.

“Such insolence. Were we to go on fighting, you would likely be dead already.”

“As if you care,” Viren mutters.

“Of course I do.” Viren rolls his eyes at that, doubtful. “Not only are you my gateway to this world—but you have, in a way, avenged me as well.”

A short silence settles as Viren frowns. Thinking. Calculating.

“And you know about that—how?” Viren asks, tone suddenly defensive. “I haven’t… I haven’t told you, I think. About Thunder.”

“Do you know what star magic is, High Mage?”

 “I didn’t know you can cast divination spells strong enough to look into our dimension,” Viren says, eyes narrowed.

“I was awarded the title of Archmage while I dwelled in your reality,” Aaravos explains. “I’ve had a thousand years to further hone my skill.”

Viren wants to say something, then seems to think better of it and turns his head to the side instead, gaze contemplative.

 “If only to repay you…” Aaravos touches his hand to Viren’s manacled wrist to the extent he is able, massaging the bruised joint lightly. “I wish to help you get what you desire.”

“Knowledge and power, yes, you’ve mentioned—”

“Recognition,” Aaravos cuts in, “respect, from those who foolishly oppose you. Protection—from those who would see you dead.”

“All useful things in a dungeon,” Viren scoffs, straining his hand against the chain where Aaravos’ hand is. He removes it for but a second before returning to massaging the skin, and Viren only sighs.

“You will be free soon enough.” Aaravos gives him an irritated look before he realizes Viren won’t be able to see it. “ _I’ve_ been imprisoned for a millennium. Surely you can wait a couple of weeks while I search for way of escape?”

A pause.

“Search quicker.” It’s far from an order, more of an unsure whisper. A plea of desperation.

“Of course,” Aaravos says, and at least knows Viren can _hear_ the smirk in his voice, “my Lord.”

Viren can’t help but fluster at that, and Aaravos fails to hold back his laugh.

*

They talk of star magic more often than not, Viren fascinated by this less-known and barely researched arcanum, by the insight into ancient spells and practices Aaravos provides. Aaravos, in turn, gleans the very few details of contemporary star magic developments known to Viren; then again, he suspects not much has been discovered in the centuries that he was absent.

It’s one of those rare times that Viren tells him a full-fledged story, reminiscing on the one time he’d caught a starfly and was far too enamored by its beauty, its ethereal glow, its possible uniqueness, that he couldn’t find it in himself to kill it for spellwork. It’s endearing, listening to and watching Viren speak, his darkened eyes alit with distant memories. Aaravos presses a hand to his cheek, caressing the side of Viren’s face, marred with dark patterns curling beautifully on pale skin. A striking contrast. And yet the marks drain Viren’s life force away, so Aaravos, once again, casts the spell which diminishes its effect. His magic is not nearly strong enough in this form, but the markings lighten somewhat. Viren stares, bemused, at his approximation of where Aaravos’ projection is, clearly feeling the invigorating effect.

“Why are you doing this?” Viren suddenly asks.

“Do you feel better?”

“I—yes.” Viren blinks, glancing at his hands. The veins there are barely visible now. “But why are you doing this?”

“Helping you?”

“No—” A faint blush crawls up Viren’s neck as Aaravos continues to glide his hand over his face, through his hair. Tracing the shape of his ear, petting the scuttling bug lightly. “ _This_.”

“Worried about fraternizing with the supposed enemy?” he asks, mouth curved into a grin. “Even so,” he says, moving his hand to trace Viren’s bottom lip lightly with his thumb, “what have you left to lose?”

“My pride,” Viren grits through his teeth, and Aaravos only laughs.

Viren flusters further, averting his eyes in embarrassment. Turning his face away, like a disgruntled child. It’s strangely endearing.

“Funny human,” Aaravos says. “What is pride, really, but a detestable and fallible vice?”

“And you know a lot about it, huh?” Viren prods, eyebrow raised.

“Yes. Why do you think I was imprisoned?”

“Tell me.”

“You guess.”

Viren sighs.

“Presumably,” he drawls, “you were too… proud? Overstepped your boundaries?”

“The opposite,” Aaravos says. “Or, rather, I fought against the worst type of pride possible.”

“Which would be?”

“Why, you’re far too familiar with it, Lord Viren.” Aaravos’ hand returns to his cheek, and this time, Viren flinches only slightly and keeps still. “The dragons, the elves. Do they not view themselves far above humanity? Superior to a race which happens to be born without a link to their _oh so cherished_ primal sources? Do you not view that as despicable?”

“I do,” Viren says slowly. “But I’m surprised you agree. They _are_ your kind, after all.”

“ _My kind_ is that of the Startouch elves,” Aaravos says, tone suddenly harsh, “and none of my people stood for such divisions between us and humanity. The rest…” He chuckled. “The rest were less tolerant. And I simply went a little further than most to correct the situation. The Dragon King, _benevolent and noble_ ,” he scoffs, “chose the judgement he saw fit.”

“And so, all Startouch elves are imprisoned in magic mirrors now?” Viren asks wryly.

“Most were wiped out,” Aaravos says, moving to busy his hands by playing with Viren’s shackles. “Those left, I presume, are in hiding.” Aaravos’ smile is strained this time, no feeling beneath it. “And I am, ideally, imprisoned for all eternity.”

Viren frowns, staring hard into the general direction of where he thinks Aaravos should be.

“An unjust punishment,” he finally says.

“Alas, that is my story.” Aaravos shrugs. “One of injustice.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Viren’s ear. Knowingly or not, he inclines his head slightly into the elf’s touch. “Just like yours.”

Aaravos can see it in Viren’s eyes—how the words ring true for him, how he is desperate to know more, but too afraid or hesitant to ask. Before Viren can work up the nerve to speak again, Aaravos presses his lips closed with his thumb and says,

“Wait for me. I shall return with a surprise.”

*

Aaravos has long since learned to cast immensely strong and durable illusions, capable of traversing dimensions with their effect. In his current predicament, however, it requires days for him to gather and harness flickers of Viren’s magical aura, so that he can tie himself to Viren’s mind and soul, allowing a corporeal illusion to appear anywhere in his vicinity. And, at last, Aaravos materializes in the cell as himself now, the apparition vivid and seeming solid—as Viren notes, _scarily_ real—however, the tactile sensations go no further than before: faint pressure, barely perceptible by Viren’s skin. He feels everything, though, Aaravos can tell—from the shivers whenever his hand lowers to his neck, from his eyes, closing involuntarily as Aaravos pets his head, from the initial hisses of pain whenever Aaravos’ magic-laced fingers massage his bad knee to ease the ache.

Tonight, Aaravos is seated comfortably on the floor, closer to Viren than is strictly necessary. He glides enchanted fingers over the length of Viren’s leg, the mage’s breeches at his ankles; the spell dims the pain somewhat, making the muscles feel less numb and fatigued.

“When I asked,” Viren says suddenly, “before…” Aaravos quirks his eyes up to Viren at the question but doesn’t stop what he is doing. Viren clears his throat. “I meant,” he continues, “why do you touch me all the time?”

Aaravos tilts his head.

“Do you expect me to cast healing spells remotely? They’re far more complex than illusions and I’m not nearly strong enough for that in this state.”

“I mean—” Viren’s face flushes and he averts his eyes, much to Aaravos’ growing amusement. “Well, not just now but… when you don’t _need_ to.” The words are whispered so quietly that a human would have had to strain to hear them.

Aaravos squeezes Viren’s leg—gently, not risking for the illusion to collapse and for his hand to run right through the soft, pale flesh.

“I’ve waited a long time,” he explains, “to be able to feel another being again.” Viren’s blackened eyes allow for little emotion, naturally, but Aaravos sees no outright hostility there—just shades of fear framed by a confused frown. “Why?” Aaravos asks. “Would you like me to stop?”

Viren is silent for a long while, and Aaravos reluctantly withdraws his hand to give him space to think. Lending him some measure of control will make Aaravos seem more trustworthy, he supposes, less coercive.

Viren struggles, of course, to accept that the only one keeping him company in this most difficult time is an elf, for all intents and purposes, the enemy. Part of an ancient, possibly extinct race of secretive, mysterious beings. A master of all arcana—and of dark magic—one who has cast spells through Viren’s body, who has killed through him, who, presumably, has abilities Viren hadn’t ever dreamt of.

“No,” is his answer. “Don’t stop.”

“As you wish,” Aaravos says, smile wide, and returns his hands to Viren’s skin, relishing his faint trembling, his soft sighs.

*

Aaravos attempts to not give away how truly fond he’s become of Viren’s company, even as this, quite literally, otherworldly experience has him feeling ecstatic. Finally, after a thousand years, there is another being Aaravos can talk to. Whom he can touch with weak spirit hands as he works on building a yet stronger spell. Whom he can get to trust him, have faith in him, idealize him, in a sense; Viren doesn’t bother to hide his fascination as Aaravos tells him of the different archaic spells he can perform—those Viren has trouble even picturing until Aaravos provides demonstrations. He doesn’t bother, too, to hide his excitement as he speaks of his own experience, both with dark magic and the crippled primal spells he was able to cast.

The remnants of dark magical energy have all but subsided from Viren’s body thanks to Aaravos draining it from him, bit by bit, channeling pure magical energy into his body instead. A lively glint is visible in his eyes now, a returned vigor in his voice and the rarest, small and almost shy smiles grace his lips. In time, he manages to get a laugh too when Viren takes a little too long to answer one of Aaravos’ trick questions (“Tell me, Viren, why do meteors always land in craters?”) and laughs at his own expense. Despite the chains, the fatigue, the echoes dark magic traversing his veins, Viren is an idyllic image of relaxation when he allows himself the liberty.

It’s thoroughly enjoyable, Aaravos has to admit to himself, spending time with such a like-minded person, and he wishes he were able to be physically present with Viren in these more light-hearted moments. Soon, he reminds himself; Aaravos keeps searching for the most effective spell to break apart his prison in given conditions. All the while, Viren’s own hunger for freedom grows stronger, Aaravos coaxing the desire to a point where Viren should agree to do most anything Aaravos suggests. Because the sole suitable spell he has discovered requires great sacrifice. How long will it be before Viren is willing to bind himself to Aaravos completely? How long will it be before he becomes powerful enough to do so?

Aaravos prepares him for it gently, delving into deep, complicated magical notions. He tells Viren of ancient, secret and all but forgotten spells that open not only prison locks, but broke barriers between different dimensions, between souls. He prods Viren’s mind for his accumulated knowledge of the arcana, corrects his misconceptions about the more spiritual spells of each magical source. He tells him, too, of the stray bits of the guards’ conversation he can overhear. The human kingdoms are in terror and set to act after of the attacks of the shades Viren had released. They grow even more determined as Sol Regem, a legend amongst dragons, wreaks havoc on Katolis’ for the humans’ crude deception about the fate of their Prince. Viren seems both satisfied and regretful, proud and ashamed of his part in the ensuing conflict, and Aaravos is quick to interfere. To assure Viren he did nothing wrong. How clever he is, how talented. How powerful—and desired.

*

As time goes, Viren, stops flinching from his touches entirely and leans into each one instead.

Aaravos counts that as a victory.

Just like the look of raw unbridled wonder on Viren’s face as Aaravos reveals to him the secret he himself had discovered far too late.

Aaravos directs Viren to draw a sigil with his fingers—a small one, as his manacled hand doesn’t exactly have much room to move. He temporarily disconnects his spirit from Viren’s, making even the worm crawl off onto the ground. It doesn’t serve any particular function anymore as Aaravos has taken to speaking from his actual projection, but it keeps Viren company when Aaravos can’t, as the guards come to feed him and arrange his sleeping space.

Viren notices the absence of Aaravos’ magic, of course.

“I can’t,” Viren protests, making Aaravos roll his eyes. “You’re not channeling your powers through me.”

 “I know.”

“And?”

“ _And_ you do as I say.”

“Aaravos—will you explain to me, first, what you’re trying to achieve here?”

Aaravos sighs. He has long since gotten used to Viren’s stubbornness, but it becomes no less exasperating over time.

“Just do as I say,” he presses on, pointing at the rune he’d drawn. “Like this.”

Viren’s mind works tirelessly, even in the confines of this rotting prison, and Aaravos has, for the past few days, been slipping bits and pieces of long lost legends and fables, of spells and rituals and historic accounts of star magic and Startouch creatures, hinting here and there at the arcanum of the stellar bodies. He guided Viren through it. The stark realization of the unimaginable distance to those faraway lights in the sky, the crude insignificance of existence here, on this speck of a planet in but one of the galaxies out of millions more. The misguided perception of the division between past and future, space and time. The improbability of a universal creator, the dreary, mind-numbing nature of infinity. Aaravos is intrigued, truly, by whether or not Viren has put the pieces together.

The sigil Viren produces is far from perfect and takes a little longer than usual to glow with energy—most likely due to Viren’s hesitance over the matter. He manages, however, to draw it in the air, fingers leaving a glowing trail in their wake, and Aaravos catches himself thinking he wouldn’t mind at all feeling them on his skin. Viren freezes, eyes wide in utter shock, while the sigil glows, awaiting further action from its caster.

“This should be impossible.” He shakes his head slowly, voice barely audible.

An image flashes in Aaravos’ mind, of a little dark-eyed child who was once his whole world. She thought it impossible too, back then. They both did.

 “This whole situation is highly improbable,” Aaravos says, his hand running through Viren’s hair. “This doesn’t make it any less real.”

“I—this…”

“Is primal magic,” Aaravos supplies. “Do take care, though. The last human I taught it to was burned alive by Thunder, and my whole race was almost exterminated for it.”

Viren stares at him, intently, his expression a mix of mild distrust and unrestrained excitement.

“Think about someone. Picture them,” Aaravos urges him. “It will show you where they are, what they are doing—anything you wish to know.”

The spell works, as Aaravos had hoped it would, making two faces appear in the resulting missed—a blond youth and a dark-haired girl, walking through a wood of some sort, seeming to be bickering. They bear some resemblance to Viren, and Aaravos supposes they are his children; the tears welling up in Viren’s eyes speak volumes.

“Thank the gods they’re all right,” he whispers.

Aaravos’ blinks.

“Thank the stars,” he tells Viren. “The gods don’t exist. Don’t tell me the world hasn’t given up on that foolish delusion in the last millennium?”

Viren’s laugh surprises him. It’s a melodic sound, for the first time clear and unhindered by underlying worry. Eyes rimmed by laugh lines. Lips stretched into a wide grin. Aaravos watches him with a small bemused smile; usually such revelations are met with existential dread.

“Delusion it is,” Viren says amid stray laughs as he calms down. A hungry glint settles in his eyes and he trains them on Aaravos once again. Searching. Imploring. Aaravos’ lips stretch into a smirk, predicting Viren’s next words. “Teach me more. _Please._ ”

And Aaravos does.

*

The following days, Viren barely sleeps. He’s intoxicated, just like Aaravos was in the long past decades of his youth, by this addictive exploration of the infinitely intricate world of magic. Viren seems to share the same love for it, the same yearning for it, determined to perfect every last spell.

Aaravos was fairly impressed by Viren’s intelligence from the start, but he still turns out to be a surprisingly quick learner. He gets a grasp the moon arcanum quite easily, and it’s not long before he is able to cast such a believable and sufficiently corporeal illusion of himself that he and Aaravos are able to watch the guards take care of his doppelganger at some point—the real Viren made invisible to their eyes—and notice no difference. It took him a dozen tries to imitate this enchantment, and now he easily directs his projection out of the dungeons and onto the castle grounds, drawing Aaravos with him. Thus they are able to, if second-handedly, experience their much-desired freedom.

The prospect is ever closer, so much more so as Aaravos waits for the perfect moment to attempt spell, able to secure both of their escapes. If Viren is willing to risk it.

“I could feel everything with this illusion as though it were real,” Viren says, having returned to his cell after one such venture. He tries to appear laid-back, yet Aaravos sees right through it. “Can you… do that?”

And for the first time in the weeks they’d known each other, it’s Viren who reaches towards Aaravos’ hand, grasping it hard—hard enough for the illusion to dissipate before he removes his fingers and it reconstructs. Viren swears under his breath, looking up at Aaravos, gaze inquisitive. He wants more, that much is obvious, and although Aaravos shares the sentiment, he keeps playing the game.

“Whatever for?” Aaravos inclines his head, smile betraying mischief.

Viren blinks.

 “You could probably teach me more… effectively, this way.” Viren’s voice is little more than a whisper, half-lidded eyes darting from Aaravos’ eyes to his mouth, to his hands still cradled in Viren’s.

“All in the name of knowledge, yes, Viren?”

Viren lowers his gaze in embarrassment, yet Aaravos doesn’t allow for such hesitation, slowly lifting Viren’s chin and pressing a lingering feather-soft kiss onto his lips. This elicits a delectable moan from Viren, then a curse as he tries and fails to deepen the kiss, Aaravos’ form dimming until Viren moves away.

“I _hate_ this,” he whispers, voice vibrating with unrestrained emotion. His breathing is harsh, hands unsteady as he settles them gently on Aaravos’ sides, careful this time not to disrupt the fragile illusion. Their lips are mere inches away, aching to touch properly, aching to _feel_. “I need—”

“You’ll have me.” Another tentative press of his lips to Viren’s. A frustrated sigh in return. Aaravos chuckles despite himself, even as dizzying desire ignites deep inside of him, longing to be quenched. “All you had to do was ask.”

*

So he proposes another ritual to Viren. One that would need a series of sigils, all drawn in blood. It’s easier for Viren to take care of it now, what with his chains being off, and he thinks it over for but a day before he decides to go through with it.

Aaravos is almost nervous with excitement, anticipation wrecking him, as close as he is to his goal.

Viren slashes his wrists on the protruding rocks from the walls, vainly attempting not to overdo it. His imitates perfectly the signs Aaravos shows to him in his mind, himself having to stay fully in his dimension for the spell. Aaravos says the incantation along with Viren, who has to repeat it in reverse, voice shaky, hands weakening as the spell draws ever more blood from his wounds, directing the dark liquid to float in front of him and coagulating into a thin rectangular sheen. The liquid starts to glow, dissipating and converting into a shimmering mirror-like portal, which Aaravos now sees instead of his reflection. He grins widely and steps through the gateway to come face to face with an awfully reckless dark mage, gaping at him in shock as he realizes Aaravos’ deception.

“I—you—”

Viren seems to have lost less than a fifth of the blood in his body, so Aaravos takes the liberty of ignoring him for a few seconds. His hands itch to touch, but he’ll have time for that later; he won’t be able to stop once he does. So Aaravos wanders away from the portal still glowing behind him, runs his hands over the stone walls, almost reverently. He holds the empty metal manacles hanging from the ceiling and squeezes them in his fingers, feeling them dig into his palms, the sensation so real and deliciously painful. The chilly air of the prison makes his skin prickle in the most wonderful of ways. He smiles. One step closer to total freedom. The final one, though—

Viren.

He stares at him still, wide-eyed and positively terrified, and Aaravos explains to him the choice he has at the moment.

“Forgive my… casual misleading,” Aaravos says, taking a few careful steps towards Viren, who jerks away, distrust simmering in his gaze. Pity. “I—much like you—desire my freedom. But imagine how long it would have taken me to convince you to attempt this.”

“Whatever _this_ is.” Viren scowls, right hand covering the wound on the other. Suffering through it. “This,” he motions to the portal, “you… it’s not an illusion, is it.”

It’s more or a statement than a question, and Aaravos knows Viren understands the implications at least partially.

“No,” Aaravos agrees, “far from it. But fear not, Viren. I have left you with the liberty to choose.” He motions to the portal. “Break it with a spell of your choice, and the mirror shall be destroyed with it. Remember, for future reference: blood, willingly given and properly enchanted, has the power to weaken a spell of any caliber. Even the Dragon King’s.”

He’s standing flush against Viren now, fingers finding their way to his cheek. Viren trembles ever so slightly. A tantalizing sight.

“However, we may proceed our… lessons,” Aaravos continues, hand sliding lower to trace Viren’s collarbone, “with the portal intact. I cannot destroy it myself. If you choose not to, then when the guards come, I will simply return through it to my humble abode. Leaving you safe and sound and unbothered for however long you wish.”

He knew, saw it in Viren’s gaze, that he wished quite the opposite. That he had gotten far too used to Aaravos’ company, far too dependent on it in what would otherwise be quite a desolate solitude. That Viren yearns to test the limits and extent of Aaravos’ power—as well as the power Aaravos can give him—no matter the danger, dire as his own circumstances are.

“Take the risk,” Aaravos says, “or play it safe.” He leans forward to whisper in Viren’s ear, “The choice is yours.”

Impulsivity was not a trait Aaravos would have assigned to Viren upon first sight, but very early on, he’d gotten used to being surprised by whatever the mage decided to do next. The portal explodes in a flash of blinding light, the shockwave masterfully controlled by the spell Viren hurls at it, and Aaravos feels the last remaining constraints of Thunder’s spell on him dissolve into nothingness, leaving him, body, mind and soul, in the dimension he’d so sorely missed.

Blinding white glow emanates from Viren’s eyes, mirroring Aaravos’ own, as the spell locks them both to each other, magical energy passing through both their bodies, mingling, joining violently.

“ _May my soul be bound to yours as yours is to mine,”_ Aaravos says in a language long dead, yet still possessing immeasurable power.

“May my soul be bound to yours…” Viren repeats, slowly, swaying from the force of it, “as yours is to mine.”

It’s finally sealed, the abrupt end of spell making Viren drop to his knees and gasp for air. For Aaravos—it’s a thousand years’ worth of dreams coming true. The realness of it all is incredible. The sense of much-longed freedom almost making his head spin, and he’s not quite able to believe it at first.

_I am free._

As he savors the feeling, Viren moves away from him, practically his way to the small hard cot in the corner of the cell. He half-leans on it, not quite able to move further, his chest heaving with raspy breaths and gasps as his skin turns paler and his face constricts in grimaces of pain; the blood loss has finally gotten to him. Aaravos approaches him and helps him to seat on the edge of the bed, sheets staining crimson from the unhindered blood flow.

“Please…” Viren whispers, barely able to move his chapped lips. “Help me…”

He sees the momentary fear in Viren’s eyes, the shades of doubt. What if Aaravos simply leaves him to die there, drained of blood and energy? What if he kills Viren himself then and there? What if he escapes after, in solitude, to bring ruin to Viren’s beloved kingdom?

Silly human.

“This will hurt,” Aaravos says, and kisses him.

The spell is ancient, but nonetheless effective, an advanced Earth magic technique, discovered and perfected by Earthblood elves, which replenishes the blood of the spell’s target to a viable level. The kiss itself isn’t strictly necessary, but desire and need have been sizzling within Aaravos for a long, begging to be sated—and it serves as a diversion from the side effects of the spell. It’s accompanied by not so much unbearable, as uncomfortable, prickling pain, and Aaravos does his best to distract Viren with his lips, moving them languidly over Viren’s, sliding his tongue into his mouth with a soft groan. Viren is much more vocal, sounds of pleasure intermingling with sounds of pain as he endures the spell and melts into the kiss. His hands, healing steadily, wrap around Aaravos’ neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss further, and Aaravos finds himself growing hard already, heady with sensation.

 _Stars_ , he has missed this.

Aaravos forces himself to pull away, to make sure that Viren is properly healed, chuckling at the flicker of disappointment on Viren’s face. Aaravos appeases him with another kiss, Viren answering it with a frenzied passion, climbing onto Aaravos’ lap and pushing forward to straddle him. They fumble in a tangle of limbs, each desperate to feel more of the other. This close, Aaravos can feel Viren’s frantic heartbeat, the hardness between his legs, the lean muscles of his arms as Viren runs them over Aaravos’ sides. The next time they break apart, Viren lets out a shuddering breath, head falling onto Aaravos’ shoulder as he clings to him.

“Please,” Viren’s whisper is so soft and so sweet, and it takes all of Aaravos’ self-control not to flip them around and take him then and there. “ _Please._ ”

Aaravos moves his lips to Viren’s neck instead, marking the soft skin with bruising kisses as Viren loses himself, hips rolling against his, body thrumming with the residual energy of Aaravos’ magic, which likely arouses him all the more.

“How little it takes,” Aaravos says, planting a kiss on Viren’s ear, “to reduce you to begging.”

He switches their positions on the narrow space so Viren lies on his back now, and soaks in the sight before him. Viren is thoroughly disheveled: blood-splattered clothing over pale skin, eyes half-closed and glazed over, a beautiful flush spreading over his face and neck.

Aaravos suspects his own appearance isn’t much better.

He vanishes away the blood with a wave of his hand, planting feather-light kisses on every part of Viren’s skin he can reach. Viren wears a ragged loose-fitting shirt now, collar wide and sleeves short, making it easy for him to map much of his skin with his lips. Aaravos pulls the fabric off to reveal his chest, Viren’s body jerking as if electrified. There’s a hand tangling in his hair as Aaravos covers one of Viren’s nipples with his mouth, letting his hand play with the other, finding them surprisingly sensitive. He chances a light bite, pulling another sweet sound from Viren, then sucks the hardened nub into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. He bites it again, harder, and Viren arches his back, hips bucking against him, silently begging Aaravos for more.

He switches to the other nipple, sucking and licking and biting it harshly, giving it as much attention as to the first. The hand that’s in Aaravos’ hair moves to grab onto one of his horns, acutely sensitive now due to his arousal, and Aaravos shudders at the touch, his free hand gripping Viren’s side hard enough to bruise.

Viren notices.

Tentatively, he glides his fingers over the horn, running them up and down its length, fondling the tips, squeezing it; the pressure is downright exquisite. That and the increasingly erratic, desperate thrusts of his hips against Aaravos’ have him teetering right on the edge, a wave of long forgotten sensations coursing through his body. It’s electrifying. Addictive. Impossible to pull away from. He does, though, for a moment, just to take a proper look at Viren’s face. Eyes closed, lips parted, hands now fisting in the ragged sheets. A stunning image.

Aaravos’ lips travel down his chest deliberately slowly, leaving teasing bites and kisses here and there. Viren is almost sobbing with it, and Aaravos gives him what he craves, finally, deftly undoing the laces of his pants. He drags them down along with his smallclothes, leaving Viren bare before him in a matter of seconds, and Aaravos grins, taking in the sight before him. Pale skin, once soft, now bruised and roughened by imprisonment. Lithe waist and surprisingly smooth, hard plains of his stomach tensing as Aaravos runs his fingers over it, drifting lower and teasing his length lightly, beautifully hard and already leaking with precome.

“Lovely,” he whispers, and, forgoing further teasing, lowers his lips onto Viren’s cock.

He circles the head with soft slow swirls of his tongue before sucking it in further, and this makes Viren tremble with renewed vigor, hips thrusting shallowly into Aaravos’ mouth. He doesn’t resist it and takes Viren still deeper, eyes fluttering closed as it hits the back of his throat.

“Aa-Aaravos,” Viren whimpers, and another thrust of his hips, harder this time, makes Aaravos hum in approval. “More—”

He directs Viren’s fingers to wrap around both of his horns this time, reveling in the delightful friction as Viren rubs his hands over them, wave upon wave of pleasure consuming Aaravos whole. He swallows around the length, bobbing his head steadily and listening to Viren’s increasingly loud moans and ragged gasps above him; it’s music to his ears.

Viren tightens his grasp on Aaravos’ horns before long, muttering soft incoherent warnings. He moves to push Aaravos off him, yet he persists, nose pressing against Viren’s stomach as he swallows him to the base once more. Warm fluid shoots down his throat as Viren comes, moaning Aaravos’ name over and over, head thrown back, a sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin—picture perfect of decadence.

Aaravos pulls away and sits up, sighing contentedly, as his gaze fixes on Viren, who looks like he’s already been fucked out of his mind.

“Salty,” Aaravos says, tone playful, “I’d almost forgotten what human release tastes like.”

“Ah,” Viren’s voice doesn’t quite come through and he has to clear his throat to continue. Aaravos uses the pause to rid himself of his own robes, pleased to see the human’s eyes lingering on the lower part of his body. Quite pointedly. “Of course you’ve done this before.”

Aaravos raises an eyebrow.

“I mean—I meant with a human.”

“Probably more times than you.” Aaravos chuckles as he stands up, pulling Viren towards him so he sits on the edge of the bed, face inches from Aaravos’ crotch. “Your turn.” He wraps his hand around the back of Viren’s head, shifting him closer. “Go on.”

“Uh…” Whatever Viren had wanted to say, he either forgot or thought better of, choosing to wrap a shaky hand around Aaravos’ length instead, seeming entranced either by its size or coloring—it stops to matter once Viren’s mouth is finally, _finally_ wrapping around it, the feel of it making Aaravos dizzy with the kind of pleasure he’d given up on ever experiencing again. Aaravos slides in deeper, building a languid pace, thrusting steadily into his mouth, and Viren takes it beautifully, moaning every time Aaravos’ length pushes against into his throat.

He sinks from the cot to his knees at some point, groaning and choking momentarily with the motion, yet quickly regaining his rhythm. Aaravos finds himself mesmerized, watching him work. He gazes up at Aaravos all the while with those striking gray eyes of his; they’re inquisitive, hesitant in contrast to the lavish, talented movements of his lips and tongue. So Aaravos makes sure to praise him with words and gentle fingers running through his hair, telling Viren how good he feels, how perfect it is when he takes him deep into his throat _just so_ , how absolutely beautiful he looks, on his knees serving Aaravos so well.

It’s not long before Aaravos feels his orgasm building, unused as his body has gotten to such stimulation, and pulls away to bring himself off to completion. Streaks of cum paint Viren’s face white, and he moans with it, greedily bringing his lips back to Aaravos’ cock to lap up the last of it.

“So good for me, Viren,” Aaravos says, a pleased sound passes Aaravos’ lips at this and he thrills at how positively ravished Viren looks, and he gathers what’s left of his release from Viren’s cheeks and feeds it to him.

Viren shudders, then lets out a shallow chuckle.

“Sweet,” he breathes, grinning wryly, “now _I_ know what elven release tastes like.”

Aaravos only laughs, pulling Viren back onto the bed and bringing his legs up to wrap around his waist, a quick spell easing the pain in Viren’s bad knee. Viren yelps in surprise when Aaravos rubs his still rock-hard cock against his ass, as his arms lock around Aaravos’ shoulders in a vice-like grip. He kisses Viren, softly at first, then ever more messily as two of his fingers, slickened with lube by a quick spell, push slowly into Viren’s asshole. He stretches it, scissoring his fingers, pinning Viren to the bed with his body. He opens up for Aaravos so easily, so eagerly that he can’t help but grow impatient—far too fast, far too soon, aching to bury himself in the tight heat. His other hand is stroking Viren’s slowly hardening cock; there are tears in Viren’s eyes now as he writhes beneath him in total surrender, and Aaravos keeps kissing him through it, unraveling him with his tongue, the rhythmic strokes of his fingers.

“Ready?” Aaravos asks, knowing he should wait yet won’t be able to. He adds a third finger, delighting in Viren’s half-pained, half-desperate whines.

“Yes—yes,” Viren can’t quite stop the needy sounds escaping his lips, his whole body begging for it despite the pain, cock already beautifully hard again, “yes, please, I—”

Viren cuts off as Aaravos withdraws his fingers abruptly and sheaths himself just as quickly, burying his entire length in Viren’s ass and letting out a deep groan as he does. He’s tight, far too tight for this too last long, so Aaravos thrusts into him with heady abandon, setting a fast, punishing rhythm, spurred on by Viren stroking his horns once more, the teasing touches driving him insane. His lips capture Viren’s in open-mouthed, intermittent kisses, eyes drinking in the sight of Viren completely at his mercy, his moans so loud he has to strengthen the silencing spells so the guards don’t hear them.

"Where's your pride now, High Mage?” Aaravos murmurs into Viren’s ear, full well knowing how his voice affects him, this deep and this close.

“A detestable and fallible vice, I was told,” Viren gets out the words in-between gasps, managing a slight smirk. “No—no need for it.” Aaravos fucks into him with a particularly hard thrust, coaxing out a high-pitched keen. “I, ah—Aaravos, _please_ —”

He repeats the motion just so that he hits the same spot inside Viren over and over, driving him crazy with it, all the while careful not to brush against Viren’s cock, the length hard and leaking and no doubt aching for any form of contact. He’s close, they’re both so close, and Aaravos barely has a handle on his control, pounding into Viren with probably far more force than necessary. Viren pulls him closer by the horns, holding on for dear life and all but whimpering as Aaravos’ teeth sink into his lips, leaving a taste of copper in their wake. Aaravos can imagine how Viren feels, writhing beneath him, rolling his hips in a silent plea for more even as his exhausted limbs must long to stop. And Aaravos, after so many centuries of doubting it, almost forgetting it, finally feels _alive_.

He comes into Viren with a deep groan and keeps fucking into him as he rides it out, Viren moaning with every following thrust. And he’s gripping on the curves of Aaravos’ horns so tight, so _perfect_ , that it wrangles a second release out of him, just a touch less intense than the first. Viren’s body shakes through it, cum leaking out of his asshole as Aaravos fills him to the brim.

“Oh, stars, I…” Viren lies beneath him in absolute ruin, blinking tears away as Aaravos pulls out slowly, limbs sluggish with delirious pleasure. “I need…”

Aaravos finally takes mercy on him, wrapping a hand around his cock, and it takes but one stroke before Viren is spilling on his stomach, on Aaravos’ hand, body spasming and twitching with the force of it, going utterly slack once he’s done. He’s a mesmerizing sight to behold: tear-tracks drying on his cheeks, streaks of cum seeping down his thighs, body wrought to utter exhaustion. Aaravos leers at him, thoroughly sated, and falls to lie on top of him, fatigue setting in his muscles as well, careful not to crush him with his weight.

“I don’t think I can move,” Viren says—or tries to say. It’s more of a barely audible whimper, if anything.

“Mhmm.”

Viren huffs out a laugh.

“Eloquent.”

“Mmmm.” Aaravos basks in the momentary rest, even as desire still courses through him. He rests his head on Viren’s chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat slowly calm and his harsh breaths settle down into a peaceful, relaxed rise and fall of his chest. “Tell me—what would you like next?”

“I’m sorry— _next_?”

“You didn’t think we were done for tonight, did you?” Aaravos lifts his head, lifting an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“What do you mean not done,” Viren deadpans, a look of lust-riddled concern on his face as Aaravos hefts them both up so they’re sat facing each other, heated limbs tangling amid the mess they’ve made. “With humans, there are these concepts of age and,” he twitches as Aaravos leans in to suck a bruise onto his neck, “and stamina… and…”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware.” Aaravos smirks against his skin, turning Viren to lie down on his stomach. “Do you see me caring?”

He quells Viren’s meek protests with gentle kisses placed on his back, with whispered promises of comfort, with hands finding the sensitive parts of his body and soothing them with energy-infused runes, making Viren shiver yet again with burgeoning desire. He kisses down Viren’s spine until his mouth reaches his hole, still leaking with Aaravos’ cum, and goes on to thoroughly take his human apart.

*

Viren comes to close to the hour of dawn, having fallen asleep after his seventh orgasm for the night.

Aaravos watches him from where he sits leaning against the opposite wall, quite taken by the endearing picture; Viren is curled tightly under the ragged sheets, his hair thoroughly messed, a light streak of drool dribbling down his chin, eyelids fluttering with whatever dreams he sees. There’s none of that grim tension that had loomed over Viren the first few times Aaravos had seen him, and he even glimpses a light smile on his lips, still beautifully red and tender from Aaravos’ attentions, as Viren shifts from one side to the other, awakening slowly. He squirms as he sits up, undoubtedly sore, swiping at his lips sheepishly as he catches Aaravos eye in the dimness of the cell. His posture remains relaxed as he blinks the sleep away, clearly not intent on being the first to speak.

“Did you sleep well?” Aaravos opts to ask.

“Well enough,” Viren says, tone raspy. He clears his throat, rubbing at it, lips giving way to a bashful smile. “Why didn’t you?”

Aaravos chuckles.

“Insomnia is easily acquired after a thousand years of solitude.” He stands, taking the few steps across the cell towards Viren to sit next to him. Aaravos smooths his hair to the extend he is able, caresses his cheek, his neck, feeling the pulse quicken as his fingers brush the tender, marked skin. “Of course, you’ll find ways to wear me out, eventually.”

Viren laughs, even as a blush blooms on his cheeks, trying and failing to shift his gaze from Aaravos. He likes to think it’s his influence, Viren being so much more _content_ now. Unbothered. And that _smile_ —Aaravos gives in and kisses him, gentle yet no less eager, teeth nibbling at Viren’s lower lip as he pulls away.

“Today,” he says, only to be met with a confused frown. “There’s an hour or so to dawn, and the guards will come to feed you soon. We will escape then.”

“And go where?”

 “To Xadia.” Aaravos grins at Viren’s widening eyes. “To seek something of great importance to me, which in the wrong hands shall bring great destruction. To seek other Startouch elves, if any were spared.” He rubs his fingers into Viren’s wrist, feeling the magical energy simmering in his blood, getting stronger. “To teach you magic you’ve only ever dreamt of—and more still.”

“To find my children… wherever they are,” Viren says, fingers absent-mindedly tracing a tracking sigil on the bedsheets.

“We will,” Aaravos promises. “Stay with me, and we will. Stay with me, and I shall keep you safe.”

Again that fearful, yet infinitely curious gaze, again that shiver running through Viren’s body as he ponders what Aaravos has in store for him—in store for them both. Viren leans in, suddenly, tentatively, for the softest press of lips against his mouth. _Stay with me,_ Aaravos implores once more, mouthing the words against Viren’s lips, grinning as he knows he has already won him over.

“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank the stars you got to the end of this, dear wanderer, and thank _you_ for reading :3
> 
> find me on  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lou_Random)  
> [tumblr](https://lou-random.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
